Johnny & I : The Island by Daria Paus (hardest books to read txt) 📕

When the basement door finally slammed shut, my knees were weak from relief. Finally, both the creeps were behind a locked door, and we were safe. Finally, we could relax.

"It's over," I said, turning to find the kitchen empty. "Johnny?"

I found him on his bed, laying on his back with eyes closed and a hand pressed to his forehead as if to ward off a headache.

“Hey?”

I sat down on the bed, brushing a hand over his arm. "How are you doin'"?

He shifted, but instead of looking at me, he turned his head the opposite way. I took his hand. "I'm sorry.” My voice trembled with held back emotion. "I didn't mean it; I thought you'd understand. Or, hoped." I squeezed his hand. "It was just an act. He would’ve killed me, I had no choice."

He turned his head, looking up at me in silence. I gave him the time he needed to take it all in, giving him a small smile as I watched the range of different emotions on his face.

“I’d never do such things,” I said. "You have to believe that."

When he still didn't speak, and that dazed expression stayed on his face for too long, I blurted. "For Christ sake! Johnny!"

He flinched, then his eyes grew wide.

I shook my head and sighed. “It was an act; you of all people should understand that."

He dragged himself up into a sitting position.

"You went after him on purpose?"

I looked at him, surprised by his tone.

"Yeah."

"You risked your fucking life, and for what?"

His sudden anger rendered me speechless.

"How could you be so stupid?" He got to his feet, standing in front of me.

"He could’ve . . .” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I can't even think about it, fuck it, Bree."

I stared at him, waiting for my mind to catch up with the whirlwind of feelings rushing through me. The words burst from my lips like a bottle of champagne blowing its cork.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled. "I did it for you!" I jumped up, brushing past him as I stormed toward the door.

"Is it too much to ask for some freakin’ gratitude?" I slammed the door, and in just a few seconds he opened it, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me back into the room.

He held my upper arms in a firm grip, breathing heavily as he stared at me.

"Didn't you hear them, what they wanted to do with you—" He looked down, but his hands never left my body. "Did he—"

"No!" I yanked myself free. "He didn't touch me." I struggled not to cry as my mind filled with memories of Sean's heavy body straddling me and his hand on my skin in the search of the knife. Johnny was right, but he didn't need to know the details.

"He would have." His voice was just a growl. "Do you have any fu—"

"But he didn’t! Ain’t that what matters?"

He tried to reach for me but I slapped his hand away. "Don’t!” I shrieked. "Don't touch me!"

"Bree."

I backed away until my back hit the wall, and then slid down until I landed on the floor. The previous hour started to catch up with me, and all of my restrained reactions and emotions washed over me.

Playing that game had been the hardest thing I'd ever done. I'd never been good at hiding my feelings, but somehow, I’d managed to not only stuff all of them away, but I'd also tricked the creep into believing my story. If this was what acting felt like, I hated it. How could Johnny do it on a regular basis and even enjoy it? It was exhausting, overwhelming, and everything in between. I was on the verge of falling apart, and all I’d done was deliver a few lies to an asshole.

"I was so scared." I started to cry.

Johnny pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me.

“Me, too.” He kissed the top of my head, pulling me close, and when he spoke his voice was thick with emotion. "Thank you."

I wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him as if he was my only lifeline. All the things I'd said echoed in my head. The look on his face as I stood, cold and emotionless in front of him, would be forever imprinted in my mind. The few seconds as his eyes had locked on mine, and I’d turned the other way and let Sean beat him—it had been real. The motive didn't matter, the feeling did—and I didn't know how I would be able to forgive myself for what I'd done.

Johnny pulled away, leading me to the bed and sat down next to me.

"What you did . . .”

“No!”

“What?”

I looked away. “Just don’t.”

“Bree. Just let me—"

“I don’t wanna hear it!”

“You do,” he said. “This you wanna hear.”

I shot him a quick glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave me a small smile. “What you did—"

"I already feel bad, I don't need you to yell at me."

"No." He took my hand. "No Bree," he said. "I'm not angry. I'm fucking amazed."

I spoke with my eyes turned to my lap. “What?”

"You even fooled me," he said. "Until I saw him on the floor, I thought—” He shook his head and scoffed. “It doesn't matter now. It's over."

I nodded, glancing up at him.

"You're one hell of an actress." He gave me a small smile. "I'm impressed."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Gosh no," I said. "I was terrified."

He chuckled. "I am, too, sometimes."

"Really?"

"Really."

Somehow, I had a hard time believing that. I wiped my eyes, shifting so I could look directly at him. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, whispering a weak, “Don’t be.” He brushed hair out of my face, and with gentle fingers tucking it behind my ears. “My brave Irish girl.”

My mouth fell open and he seemed to realized what he’d said. He flashed me a quick smile, then shifted away from me and let his body fall back onto the bed.

I watched him